


(cause i’m a little unsteady)

by Le_Tournesol



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz Pitch is a good boyfriend, Established Relationship, Fainting, Hurt/Comfort, Hypoglycemia, Kidnapping, M/M, Sleepy!SnowBaz, post university, simon!whump, worried!baz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Tournesol/pseuds/Le_Tournesol
Summary: When goblins are planning to murder you, they don’t bother to feed you.Or, Simon gets abducted by goblins, and Baz is Not Happy.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 20
Kudos: 208





	(cause i’m a little unsteady)

**Author's Note:**

> Completely self-indulgent bit of fun. Not Brit-picked. Baz mostly refers to Simon as Simon bc theyre about 24 in this, so I figure he’s finally on a first name basis, lol. Partially inspired by my own bouts of hypoglycemia. As usual the text editor hates me and I lose all my italics.

Baz

Fucking goblins, I think as I sever the ropes knotted around Simon’s wrists. They fall away to reveal broken skin, rubbed raw and puffy. Aleister Crowley, I cannot believe this shit.

I spend one night away for work, and this is what happens. I come home to an empty, ruined flat that smelled like bacon and cinnamon, better known to me as the scent of my boyfriend’s blood, and I’ve spent the better part of the day hideously worried and desperately trying to find him. 

This is the sort of thing that keeps me up at night.

In spite of the fact that Simon hasn’t been able to perform a single spell in years, he still manages to attract dangerous magical creatures like some kind of magnet, and the goblins are still trying to kill him so they can crown a king.

Fuckers keep getting smarter, too. 

When I was a sophomore at university, one of them had the gall to claim that they’d killed him. It was a clever ruse; that fucker had gone as far as to find a body with a similar build and coloring. The news traveled quickly, and I ended up fielding calls from former schoolmates asking if my boyfriend was dead. 

Needless to say, I’d nearly torn out someone’s throat that day. I raced home to make sure he was okay, and there he was sitting on the couch watching the telly and eating crisps. He was completely unaware that he was supposed to be dead, but the scheme alone still royally pissed me off. 

Nowadays they know they have to take him alive, and they’ve even started working together. 

One goblin isn’t too bad, even if I don’t like it, but a small horde of them can clearly cause some impressive trouble.

There’s tape over Simon’s mouth, and his left eye is nearly swollen shut. His broken nose is crusted with blood. 

Somehow he looks annoyed and chagrined, and I know he’s frustrated. 

I cast get well soon and early to bed, early to rise. I tap the corner of the tape with a vanishing spell.

Simon immediately spits out his sock and sucks in a grateful breath before he sighs.

“Thanks,” he whispers hoarsely. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” I chide. I can’t handle him apologizing right now. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

“No,” he answers, but I don’t believe him. He must see it in my expression because he adds, “Really. I’m fine. Just some bruises.”

I cast another healing spell just to be safe and follow it up with clean as a whistle, and then I haul him to his feet, “Let’s get out of here, Snow. I’ve had enough misadventures for this lifetime.” 

“You took care of the goblins?”

“Yes,” I answer. There’s finality in my tone, and he doesn’t ask questions. I’m grateful because I don’t feel like explaining. This particular brood won’t be bothering us again. 

I lead him out the back, up a narrow staircase that smells of damp earth and stale piss, and back onto the street. The wind nips at my ears and Simon shivers, and I regret that I parked the jag a few blocks away to avoid suspicion. 

We stop and wait at the crosswalk as a few cars rumble past us. When Simon draws in a sudden, shaky breath, I fix my eyes on him assessingly.

He sways, suddenly clutching my shoulder to keep himself upright.

“Simon? Simon!” I fuss. His blue eyes are a little glazed, and he doesn’t answer me. He leans a little more heavily and blinks slowly. Worried he may collapse, I get my arms around him and nervously babble at him, “Love, hey, talk to me.”

Finally, he rights himself a bit.

“Simon?”

He shakes his head like he’s trying to knock the remaining fuzz away. He smiles, albeit weakly, and I’m not reassured. “Sorry. Just lightheaded for a second there. I’m fine.”

Like hell, I think. 

“Come on,” I tuck him under my arm and against my side. “We’re almost to the car.” 

He doesn’t complain when I nearly drag him down the sidewalk. I even open the passenger door for him and strap him into the seat, though he bats at my hands and reminds me that he’s not inept. I shed my coat and cover him with it like a blanket, which makes him fuss at me because he’s worried I’ll be cold.

Idiot, I think. I’m not the one who was on the losing end of a goblin fight and held against my will for the past twenty odd hours. I’m not the one who ended up with bloodied wrists and a black eye and what is probably a concussion. Stupid, stupid, I think, but even I know there’s no real heat directed at him. 

I turn the key in the ignition and the car purrs to life as Simon leans back against the headrest and closes his eyes, and then I put my blinker on and pull out into traffic. 

I don’t bother with music. I just listen to him breathe. 

I wait to see if he’ll doze off, but he stays awake. I may as well ask him now. My grip tightens on the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. I take a breath that’s meant to be calming, but it’s far from effective.

“What happened?” I murmur. 

“They jumped me when I was going into the flat,” he mutters without opening his eyes. 

“How many?”

He hums thoughtfully, “Four? Probably? I think I broke the coffee table.” 

I don’t give a shrivelfig about the fucking coffee table or anything else that got destroyed during the fight. I just hate that he’s apologizing. 

“I knocked one of them out, and I think I broke another’s arm, but it mostly just made them

mad,” Simon says as gestures vaguely at his once broken nose. “Then things got pretty rough. It’s kind of blurry.”

I flex my fingers on the steering wheel and make a right, “I believe you have a concussion.”

Infuriatingly, Simon shrugs, “It’s probably fine.”

“It’s decidedly not fine,” I tell him as I brake a little too hard at a red light. 

Suddenly, his hand covers mine on the wheel, “Basil, I’m fine. Are you all right?” 

I glare at him instead of answering. He’s getting pretty impervious to my glowering, so he just says, “You missed the turn.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. The flat is that way.”

He actually points like I don’t know where we live. 

“We’re not going home, we’re going to the hospital.”

He straightens up like I’ve shocked him into a second wind, “What? No.”

He uses my full name like it will have some sort of effect on me, like it will persuade me to take him home. I’m not budging. 

“Really. I just need a meal and some sleep. I’ll let you spell me as much as you want. Just... let’s go home, yeah?” 

“I can’t spell your concussion away, and I don’t like that you’re dizzy.” 

“It passed though,” Simon insists, and I roll my eyes. “Please. Penny can handle concussions; she’s had enough practice. Just call her. She won’t mind. Take me home?”

His face is so open, honest, imploring, and I growl and slap my palms against the wheel because I know I’m going to give in. 

The next time we stop, I stare him down, “If you feel even a tiny bit worse or off, we’re going straight to the hospital, even if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you there kicking and screaming.”

“Deal,” he grins at me, but I can see the exhaustion in in the pinched corner of his eyes. I squeeze his hand, but I can’t look at him right now because I can’t keep the concern out of my expression. 

I call Bunce and tell her to meet us at the flat, but she’s already there. I should’ve expected as much. Once she found out Simon was missing, she rushed back from her weekend research retreat. I think the only reason she didn’t go in after him with me was because I was already at their hideout by the time she got back into town. 

We drive the rest of the way in silence while Simon rests against the seat. He’s still too pale and washed out, and there are dark circles under his eyes. 

Why can’t they just leave him alone? I wonder as I brush my thumb over the back of his hand. He’s been through enough. He gave up his magic. This shouldn’t be happening any more. He should be safe. 

Simon’s nearly asleep when I smoothly parallel park in an empty spot out front of our flat. 

I hurry to the other side of the car to help him out and we walk into the entryway. Simon drags his feet as we make our way to the second floor, and I can tell he’s eager to get off them. He leans heavily against the wall outside of our door. 

I’m reaching for my key when his knees buckle. 

“Shit!” My keys jangle when they hit the floor, but I catch Simon before his head hits the hardwood. I’m briefly grateful for my enhanced senses and reflexes. “Shit. Simon. Wake up.” 

He’s as white as bone and a little sweaty. Crowley. 

I spell the door unlocked with enough force to make it fly open, and I gather him up into my arms and yell, “Bunce!”

I know it’s the middle of the night, but the neighbors be damned. I’m fucking scared, okay?

I take him in and place him on the couch, pat his cheeks, repeat his name, every syllable a bit more frantic than the last. 

His eyelids twitch, open a slit to reveal my favorite ordinary shade of blue, “Baz?”

“Fuck,” I swear shakily. I place the back of my hand against his forehead, but it’s pointless because I’m a shit thermometer. 

“What happened?”

“You passed out, you numpty,” I tell him as I smooth a hand through his grimy hair. “What the fuck, Simon?”

The door to Bunce’s room creaks open as she stumbles into the room in her pajamas. Her hair is a thick, frizzy halo, and her glasses are crooked on her nose, but I know she hasn’t been sleeping. 

“What happened?” 

“He fainted,” I reply. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Bunce frowns thoughtfully as she lights her wand like a torch and shines it in Simon’s eyes. He hisses, but she doesn’t relent. His pupils are sluggish. 

“He’s definitely concussed, but I’m not sure why he fainted.”

She peels his shirt up to reveal his torso. It’s bruised, but not in a way that would suggest any internal injuries or bleeding. She taps her fist against her chin.

“How do you feel, Simon?” she asks.

“Do not say fine,” I threaten. 

“Um,” he hesitates, and then he sags, “Cold? And shaky? Just really off, I guess. And weak.” 

“Did they feed you?”

Shit. Aleister fucking Crowley, how fucking obvious. I’m the idiot. 

“No,” Simon responds. 

“What did you eat before you were taken and when?”

The answer is too little and too long ago. 

He’s fucking hypoglycemic. 

It’s inane and frustrating and I don’t know why I thought a bunch of goblins that were trying to murder him would bother to feed him. 

“I’m going to get some crackers and juice,” Bunce announces. “Basil, help him sit up.”

I do. He’s pliant, like a limpet, so I prop him up against the arm of the couch, and he sips at the juice. 

“You should start feeling better pretty quickly,” Bunce explains. 

I hand him a cracker, and Simon asks Bunce if she cleaned the flat. 

She and I share a long suffering look. 

“Yes, Si, but that’s not really important right now. The goblins are getting too clever. I think they may have staked out the building or figured out our schedules. They didn’t make a move until Baz and I were both out of town.”

Her words confirm my fears, and I grimace. 

Simon stops chewing, “It’s not a big deal.”

And I cannot fucking listen to this refrain again. I huff noisily and excuse myself while Bunce lays into him. 

I wash my face in the bathroom sink and make a pot of tea the Normal way to stall for time and keep my hands busy. 

When I return, Simon is saying something about not wanting to move, and Bunce is reassuring him, “We don’t need to move. We just need to have better protections in place.”

Simon scowls at her, but he accepts the cup of tea I hand him, “I don’t want a babysitter, either.”

He fixes us both with a dark look, like he wants to make sure we realize that he’s addressing both of us. 

“It’s late,” I say flatly. “Drink your tea. We should save this conversation for the morning.”

I’m more tired than I realized now that I’m sitting on the sofa and watching the color slowly return to his face. Between disposing of the goblins and patching Simon up, I’ve used up a lot of magic tonight The twenty odd hours of fretting probably didn’t help, and I haven’t slept since I realized he was missing. 

I’m more durable than the average mage, but even I have limits. 

“Baz’s right,” Bunce agrees as she hands Simon another pack of crackers. This time they’ve got cheese or peanut butter in the middle of them. “You should take a quick shower and get some sleep.” She turns to me, “You’ll keep an eye on him? And wake him up every few hours?”

Of course I will.

She knows I will.

Merlin knows she’s nagged me about my tendency to worry over him, insisting that I’m going to end up with an ulcer.

I think it’s just force of habit for her to remind me, or it helps her to hear that he’s all right aloud.

I don’t blame her.

Even after Watford, Simon Snow’s well-being is a full time job. 

I don’t even bother to answer verbally; I just raise an eyebrow. 

Apparently this satisfies her, so she waves her wand over Simon’s abdomen and the remaining bruises fade significantly. I took care of most of his wounds, like his nose and his wrists, but I know he’ll still be sore tomorrow.

Hot water should help.

Once he’s finished the second portion of crackers, I help him up and pull him into our room and the attached bath for a shower. 

I think things are catching up with him because he lists against me and doesn’t complain when I start to strip him and follow him into the shower. 

He leans on me while the hot water cascades over his skin, and I absently wash his hair while I pepper kisses along his hairline. Eventually, he just closes his eyes and keeps them that way while I run the soap over his shoulder blades and gently massage as I go. 

When I gently knead a particularly tense muscle, he sighs and melts into me. 

We’re starting to prune by the time I shut off the water and toss Simon his towel, and I think he may fall asleep standing up if I don’t get him to bed soon.

I spell his wings and tail for good measure before I help him into a pair of his pants, and then I grab one of my football jumpers for him when I notice the goose bumps on his arms. 

Once we’re both suitably dry and warm, I slide under the blankets on our bed, and Simon crawls in beside me. 

I’m fucking exhausted, and I’m frankly impressed that’s he’s still conscious. 

I know it won’t take much to get him to sleep tonight. 

I pull his back against my chest, which is only an option when his wings have been spelled away, and wrap myself around him. 

I press my lips against the nape of his neck. 

“I love you,” I remind him, and then I snake a hand under his jumper and rub circles over his belly the way I know he likes. It’s the quickest way to turn him into a pliant puddle, and it doesn’t fail now. He makes a soft, satisfied humming noise, and I bury my nose in his hair and inhale. 

“Love you more,” Simon slurs. 

Idiot, I think again, fondly. Fucking numpty.

Aloud I murmur, “Not possible, darling.”

“Sappy,” he accuses. 

I huff a laugh against his shoulder, but I don’t argue.

Tomorrow will be a long day, and we’ll probably end up fighting. I think we’re going to have to take this to the coven, and I know he won’t like the suggestion. I can’t blame him. He’s yet to have a good experience with them, and I know when he was interviewed after the death of the Mage it was pretty traumatic.

But we can’t keep living with the threat of fucking goblins looming over our heads, and the coven is our best chance of getting the goblins to lay off.

I sigh, and Simon shifts backward until there’s no space between us. He complains, “You’re thinking too loudly.”

He’s right. 

Tomorrow we can worry about the goblin problem, tonight we should rest.

So I tuck his head under my chin, use the hand on his stomach to pull him impossibly closer, and listen to his heartbeat until it lulls me to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tune in next tine when I poison Baz or give Simon asthma. I haven’t decided yet. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments make my day! 
> 
> [my tumblr](Sunflower-le-tournesol.tumblr.com)
> 
> [my snowbaz tumblr](together-chamber-by-chamber.tumblr.com)


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